20 WHA TE VER GOES UP W HEN it was announced a few days ago in Variety that a new musIcal comedy named "What's Up?," dealing with the mis- adventures of some aviators whose plane is grounded near a girls' school, was cooling on top of the oven, Broad- way's reaction was not slow in com- o (' Th ' f " b d Ing. at s or me, 0 serve one astute old. showman with whom I was lunching at Lindy's. "I'll take a piece of that." The moment the wait- er had brought him the strudel, how- ever, he seemed less certain. "I don't know," he hesitated, trying to ingest the strudel without removing his toothpick and cigar. "I t' s a kind of a sophisti- cated idea. The public don't want to think-they want to laugh. Look at Chekhov." We looked at Chekhov, who had just come in and was having a rolled-beef sandwich and a bottle of Dr. Brown's Celery Tonic in the corner. I got up and went over to his table. "Hello, Chekhov," I said. "Hello," he saId. "What happened to you last night?" I said. "Brett and I waited for you at the Dingo," he said. Good old Chekhov. I could see him looking at the Variety in my pocket. "Well, I guess you know," I said. "Sure," he said. "Sure.. I know." "I suppose it had to happen," I said. "N ot that way it didn't," he said. "Not that way, old man. When I wrote 'Uncle Vanya' none of my aviators were grounded near a girls' school." .. "You didn't have any aviators in cU ncle Vanya,' " I said. "You bet I didn't," he said. "That's the point." He ordered another celery tonic. "Better ease off, Chekhov," I said. "Tha t makes four " "I'm all right," he said cheerfully. That's one thing about Chekhov. No matter how many Dr. Browns he's had, he never shows it. "Mind if I file some cables?" He drew some cables from his pocket and started filing them. I went back to my table and told my friend what he had said. "Certainly," he nodded. "It ain't be- lievable, aviators mixed up in a girls' school. Listen," he said confidentially, impaling a sour tOl11ato on his index fin- ger, "do you want to know what an astute old showman like I would do with that plot? I'd l11ake them a bunch of gIrl aviators which they fall down near a boys' school. Paste that in your hat and smoke it." I HAVE been smoking it ever since last Tuesday and have arrived at the same conclusion. The basic idea of "What's Up?" is a dilly, but unless it is handled with extreme delicacy it may very well curdle. In the following libretto, I have taken the liberty of indicating one of the directions in which the story might go. There is still another, but I doubt whether the authors could be influenced to accept it at this point. [Scene 1: The cockpit of a fast 1nono- plane hzgh above the clouds. At rise, three fair aeronauts are discovered in white sateen uniforms with cute fur- trimmed collars and goggles: Phyllis Brontislaw, a gorgeous blonde; Valuta Imbrie, a gorgeous brunette; and ((Pun- kins" Janeway, a gorgeous redhead. Valuta has just finished washing her luxuriant tresses and, while Phyllis busies herself steering their frail craft, spreads her crowning glory out to dry in the rays of the late-afternoon sun. (( Punkins ," curled up on a $Of a, is gor g- ing herself on Tango Kisses and devour- ing the latest Do..nn Byrne novel.] VAL UTA : Well, here we are in the trackless empyrean., where every pros- pect pleases and only man is vile. BARKLEY BARKLE Y BARKLEY &- FINK A"t'''O NE. '(S - AT - t.I\W '* ---- .d 1 * $:. F : ':ài : '4 J * : * it i * t"" .t--' % -Ii f.NTE..R o @ OCTOBER. 2., I 9 4-:3 PHYLLIS: Men, men, men-can't you think of anything else? PHYLLIS (solo): "Men, Men, l\len" 'Oh, maidens fair, be\vare, And like,vise have a care, Lest passion's kiss betrays And lose you in a maze. Men, men, men, They're quite outside our ken, Th ir ways are very devious, It's lovey-us and leavey-us, Men, men, men. PUNKINS: Why so pensive, Val? V ALUTA: That's for me to know and you to find out. PHYLLIS: Stuff and double stuff! AlJ the world is aware that your aunt, Mrs. Morris F enchurch of Bailey's Beach and Piping Rock, made me take you along on my transcon tinen tal dash to nip your budding romance with Señor Ramón Mulcahy, the Argentinian polo flash that has been turning feminine heads this season! V ALUTA (hotly) : I'll have you know I'm in love with Ramón and propose to marry him! PHYLLIS: We shall see what we shalJ see. PUNKINS: Oh, stop scrapping, you two! Say, Phyl, what tÏtl1e are we due in Bethesda, Maryland? PHYLLIS: Unless l11Y eyes are playing me false, I believe I descry her environs now. Oh! PUNKINS: What's the matter? PHYLLIS: The engine's missing! PUNKINS (innocently): Then how did we ever get this far? PHYLLIS ( impatiently): Something has gone wrong with the mechanism, silly. (Thoughtfully) Doubtless one of those little wheels inside is stuck. VAL UTA: Then it behooves us to "bail off" apace, lest we dash out our brains in the ensuing holocaust. Parachutes at the ready! (Galvanized into action, the three pull their ripcords and float gently to earth. Mzdway they are joined by the ladies of the ensemble, forming a stunning aerial ballet which should leave the critics breathless in their seats. Note: This may be a bit difficult to stage, as the plane is resting on two sawhorses and the parachutes are bound to create hell's own tangle, but it can all be cut out on the road.) [Scene 2: A dormitory room at P each- pit Military Academy. At rise, Perry Yeast, president of the senior class, is stretched disconsolately on a window seat, staring at the ceiling. His adoring henchman, ((Skinny" Beaumarchais,